


These Moments We Steal

by sapphicqueens



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Romantic Tension, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicqueens/pseuds/sapphicqueens
Summary: Cosima and Delphine met through a camera lens one day. Sometimes they capture a moment or two.  [One Shots]





	1. Chapter 1

The beautiful woman, who Cosima had heard so much about, was just not an astonishing actress. She was a piece of art, paintings of women like her were already exhibited at art galleries in Europe.  
  
Every freckle on her back could form a constellation. The aspiring photographer wanted to connect them with her fingers, to feel the soft creamy looking skin underneath her touch.    
  
"Just like that, good! Now tip your chin a little," the short dreadlocked woman gave out orders, trying desperately to ignore the warm knotted feeling in her chest that blossomed just from looking at the woman splayed out in front of her.    
  
Her pink lips were parted, her smoky eyes staring right through the lens of the camera, as if she knew exactly what the photographer was thinking. Her gaze revealed nothing but mysteries yet unexplored, revealed only to herself.    
  
Though, the brunette woman felt as if she exposed a bit of herself. Just for her to see, something that even the most advanced of cameras was unable of capturing. There was something vulnerable in the blonde goddess posing before her.    
  
It was not in the fact that she was undressed. Not the chill in the studio that made the rosy buds on her breast protrude in the most delicious of ways. Nor was it the violin curve of her waist or the unruly curls that framed her stoic face, curls that she could only imagine slipping her fingers through.   
  
No, there was something unspoken that the photographer only could sense. Something erotic and spiritual.   
  
"Wonderful Ms Cormier! Yes please, keep your hands there," she continued. Even though her whole inner being was a mess, she had to appear professional. She had seen naked women hundreds of times before. Though no one had managed to capture her more than her camera had captured them.

What the photographer was not prepared for, was the laughter escaping the blonde's lips during the breaks.    
  
Her face lit up, the vulnerability and mystic goddess all of a sudden gone and replaced with this humble woman that could not stop laughing at both her own jokes and the silly wits of the people around her.    
  
She radiated warmth, intelligence and kindness. Her presence seeped into every empty crook and corner and she dominated the workplace.    
  
"Miss Niehaus," the photographer's assistant tried to catch her attention, "I think we should try a different exposure. The light doesn't hit her as good with this one."   
  
"Hm, we can try. Though I like how it contrasts her eyes," the brunette pointed at the dark nebulas of said eyes and her pale skin illuminating the screen.    
  
"May I see?" a soft, lilting French interrupted her.    
  
The photographer turned around to meet the motive of her pictures. She was wrapped in a blanket, her hair unruly as ever and her lower lip caught between her teeth. 'God she was beautiful.'    
  
"Of course," the brunette grinned friendly and pushed aside her poor assistant to let the taller woman take a look at herself.    
  
"Wow, these are... Magnifiques," the blonde said an genuine awe; as if she too was blown away by her own beauty, "no one has ever made me look so alluring before."    
  
"That's all on you, babe," the artist winked and loved seeing the pink colour the blonde's cheeks, "I'm just the messenger."

“Well, a very talented messenger I must say.” 

“Blood sweat and tears got me here, Miss Cormier, as I’m sure you’ve been through yourself,” Cosima nodded and was well aware of how tough the acting business was. 

“Life as an artist, am I right?” Miss Cormier winked and was pulled away by the hair and makeup crew.   
  
“Life as an artist…” Cosima sighed as she positioned herself behind the camera once again. 


	2. Chapter 2

“What got you into photographing?” the blonde asked, sipping from her mug of plain black coffee while tendrils of golden hair was caught in the wind. It itched in brunette’s fingers to pick up the camera; picturing how Delphine’s uncovered beauty would appear on Polaroids; the spots, moles and freckles that made a sky on her face and hinted of endless constellations travelling timelessly down the rest of her body.

“That is a good question that I don't have an answer too. I guess, like many artists since the beginning of time, I wanted to try and capture nature’s beauty – the colours of a rainbow, or how a sunset throws this amazing light show on the clouds, how a seagull dives toward the water…” Cosima quieted down with a distance look in her hazel eyes, “I'm mesmerised every day.”

Delphine bit her lip in contemplation, “but you only photograph portraits? Or is there a folder of all these amazing sceneries somewhere that I haven't seen yet?”

“Well… There is a portfolio. But it seems I found nature’s beauty in women; Mother Nature if you will,” Cosima winked cheekily, “what about you? Why did you become an actress?”

The blonde knit her brows together, creating small lines on her forehead that Cosima would love to smoothen out with her fingers. While letting the other women think of an answer, Cosima picked up her Polaroid camera from her handbag and was quick to snap a photo. The flash blinded them both and Delphine blinked in surprise.

“Hey, I wasn't prepared!” she giggled as Cosima fanned the picture, held it between index and middle finger and watched as shadows and contours began to appear on the shiny paper.

“That's the best thing! Impressionnisme, mademoiselle. Caught in the motion, caught in the moment,” a grin spread across the brunette’s face when Delphine laughed at Cosima’s exaggerated French.

“D'accord,” she said, “but still, not fair. How did it turn out?”

Cosima wiggled her eyebrows in pure teasing, “that's for me to know and you to find out.”

“You cheeky little shit,” Delphine shook her head and the small strands of hair that had escaped the fixed curls, tempted Cosima to reach forward and brush them off the blonde’s nose.

“Well, you still haven't answered my question; what made you want to be an actress?”

Once again, Delphine got caught in a chain of thoughts. Cosima desperately wanted to unravel them, pick apart the details to see what was behind this otherworldly being.

“Hm, as you wanted to capture nature, I think I've always been interested in what makes us different, different humans. I guess I wanted to capture the essence of a soul,” she stared off into space, eyes catching the afternoon glow in this explosion of greens and browns, “so in a sense; I answer like many actors do, I want to try and be somebody else.”

Cosima nodded and it hit her how normal the actress in front of her was. She was still just a human being trying to find their place in this big wide world. Not too different from herself at all. Yet she always seemed to be miles ahead of everyone, in tune with the universe but not with society. She belonged to no man, no city or land. She was someone entirely her own and Cosima admired that. She would do anything to capture that on a photo film, take the one shot that would reveal that kind of individuality.

“What are you thinking about?” Delphine interrupted her and sipped from her coffee.

“Love, humans, people, sex, money… life. The usual,” Cosima answered and her gaze caught the movements of someone walking past them. Delphine seemed unfazed by her answer, seemed to understand and she nodded as if she, too, often had her mind occupied by these trivial yet important matters.

“The everyday struggle,” Delphine sighed with a mirthless smile and Cosima thought that wow, this should be very dull. She usually hated getting realistic when she in fact was a dreamer. Hell, her work and life depended on her daydreaming.

But this was sweet. It was a gentle moment, fleeting in her everyday struggles somewhere untouchable by all that pushed her shoulders down.

“Should we get going?” Delphine suggested and gathered her things, “I’ve heard there’s a lovely gallery nearby that just premiered a new exhibition by this intriguing little photographer.”  

“Are you calling me little? I’ll show you little.”

“Compensating for something, are we now?”  
  
“Hey, I’ve seen you naked.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex ahead.

The light shines through an open window, dancing between white silk curtains that fall heavy, skimming over the oak parquet with a pleasant sound.    
  
Following the the bright morning light, it hits a bed; dark grey sheets messily thrown about, half on the floor accompanied by a pillow. A gush of wind brushes a pair of eyelids and exposed naked skin, rising gentle goosebumps along its way. It's not cold but cool enough to cause the eyelids to flutter open.    
  
Hazel eyes peer through messy brown locs and blink some sleep away. Their owner slowly regaining conscious along with vivid memories of last night; memories that still tingles the nerve endings beneath her skin and makes the blood in her veins boil anew.    
  
Bodies writhing together; slick of sweat and covered in small red crescents the size of fingernails; moans and whispers of promises echoes in her mind as they had done between the vintage wallpaper the night before —    
  
Ethereal. That's how she had felt. That's what she had looked like, the other woman, in the throes of passion and desire with her head thrown back in pleasure and had this really happened?    
  
She decided that it was too vivid to be a dream, but too good to be true.

However, as she turns around, her eyes fall on the most stunning view – even better than the City skyline outside her window – and her being trembles in a calm satisfaction, still humming in remnant afterglow.   
  
Before her she is; a goddess, this ethereal creature splayed across the silky sheets; golden curls catching the sunlight in an illuminating way making her want to slip her fingers through them.   
  
Her eyes linger on the mouth, small and pink and a bit bruised from teeth, lips and tongue mere hours ago. She follows the way the light seems to caress the creamy skin over her shoulders; her freckles and spots a stark contrast to the just slight sun kissed back; a kind of a reversed starry night, a piece of art.   
  
Drinking in the sight of it, the feminine violin curve of her waist, she can't but reach forward, fingertips hovering just above the skin, as if she's afraid she'll burn or afraid the other woman might evaporate into thin air if she touches her.   
  
Nonetheless, in a split second a decision is made and the warmth of the other woman is so soft and pure; so bright and colourful; so obnoxiously painful as it shreds every bit of self awareness inside her soul and there is only her. There is only _her_.   
  
A small gasp, a missed heartbeat, hot blood and overwhelming desire– no, love. Lust, longing and strong love thrums through her as her fingers play over the swell of hips and buttocks. She allows herself to explore, allows herself to re-discover what had yesterday been ravished.  
  
The nail of her index finger follows the bend of a leg; it's bent at the knee and hoisted up, baring the sleeping woman’s core to their world inside this small bedroom and–  
  
She lets her palm rest upon the soft skin of her inner thigh, the other woman giving out a small gasp and a sigh in her sleep and she stirs.   
  
The brunette moves her hand upwards, watches as her fingers cover skin and loves how soft the pale flesh is underneath. She also loves the croaky groan the blonde woman breathes as the hand comes closer, closer, closer, to her still very sensitive core.   
  
"Cos…?" The blonde whispers and her eyes blink open, locking with her's as the fingers stop just an inch from where they want to be.   
  
"Yes?" she responds tentatively, her voice thick with wonder and devotion, awe and love.   
  
The blonde doesn't respond, only observes as the brunette keeps staring; hands still.   
  
Never has she felt this before, never has she had this fascination with the female body in this way; always thought it beautiful but never really pondered on how natural while otherwordly it is.   
  
Yet, here she has a prime example, here she is presented to someone who is filled with such wonder for the world while being one herself.   
  
She closes the small distance between her fingers and _her_ ; her core that is hot and wet, welcoming and expecting. She's oh so sensitive, oh so responsive. Her dew the juice of a ripe fruit in summer and she's harvesting every single drop.   
  
The other woman groans, burying her face in the pillow she's keeping in her arms and the brunette watches as the muscles on her back contract, her shoulder blades protrude in her movements. She finds that if this is what worshipping is, she never wants to stop.   
  
If this is what praying is she would pray until her throat turned dry, until she can't pray no more, until her knees and hands hurt from holding the same position for too long.   
  
If this is her shrine, this woman her goddess and her body her communion, she never needs to see another sunset, never needs to hear another masterpiece, never needs to taste the gentle caress of wine on her tongue when this woman before her is an explosion of aromas and life itself.   
  
This is all she needs.  
  
Too bad it's just for the weekend.


End file.
